Kelly MacMiche was a very intelligent girl. She excelled at all her subjects, particularly History.
She somehow combined that with living the lifestyle of the average teenage rebel: going to nightclubs; drinking far too much; popping the odd pill; dangerously undereating; smoking and of course the all-important not ringing the folks at home to say where she was.
Ideally this should have been the perfect combination: the clever pupil to delight her teachers and the angry drinker-smoker to fit in with all the other kids at school. But she wasn’t popular with anyone. Why was that? The question is a fair one, the answer simple: because she wasn’t very nice.
While answering every question correctly in class Kelly would debate in a way which involved withering put-downs, tutting and sulky looks towards anyone who disagreed. And she brushed her hair incessantly all the way through her lessons, driving everyone mad in the process.
When clubbing Kelly would never dance. If anyone asked her to she’d tell them to “fuck off”. She’d just stand by the bar smoking, tutting, brushing her hair, rolling her eyes up to the Heavens and getting hammered alone. If anyone offered her a drink or a tablet she’d accept but it was very rare for them to get anything back, even so much as a conversation. The exception was if the person was a boy whom she fancied. Then she’d reward him with a good kick up the arse, a good whack on his arse with her ubiquitous hairbrush or by feeling his willy and telling him how small he was. Boys always hated all of this and never came back to get her a second drink or any more E. Pussies: couldn’t even take one smack, she’d think, and tut to herself.
One day Mr. Yeatter and Miss Etoght, two of her schoolteachers, became concerned (read: nosey) about this unearthly child and decided to visit her father, who’d always said he was very private and didn’t discuss anything with strangers.
The teachers arrived at an old wooden mansion with white paint peeling off the outsides and wooden boards alternating with smashed windows. There were no lights anywhere. Feeling they must have come to the wrong address as there was clearly no-one here they started to walk away when they heard: “Father, is that you?”
It was Kelly’s voice. So they turned back. There on the porch of the shabby house was a man wearing a white sweatshirt, a black jacket, a long green cape and a fur hat.
“Excuse me, we’re looking for one of our pupils – Kelly MacMiche,” said the male teacher.
“We?” enquired the strangely-attired man.
Miss Etoght appeared and explained that they were concerned about her and wanted to check that everything was all right at home.
The man reluctantly opened the door.
To the teachers’ horror they saw in the mouldy hall a man on all fours dressed as a dog. He was racing around in a circle and yapping.
“Quiet, Fido!” snapped the man in the green cape as he turned to his unwanted guests.
“Why have you come here?” he asked.
Miss Etoght stammered that she had been worried about the wellbeing of her pupil.
Kelly appeared at this point, brushing her hair as ever. As her teachers greeted her she tutted and carried right on brushing. When the “dog” ran up to her and put his “paws” on her she just said, “Get off, Fido” and carried on brushing her hair.
“Is this really where you live, Kelly?” asked Mr. Yeatter.
“And what’s wrong with it?” asked the man in the green cape.
“Are you Mr. MacMiche?” asked Miss Etoght.
“A moronic question, Madame: of course I am Mr. MacMiche. Who else would I be?”
Fido ran up to Miss Etoght and started licking her feet. She recoiled in horror.
“Get down, Fido – leave Miss Etoght alone,” commanded Kelly. And the man-dog obeyed.
“Who is it? Who has come to our house?” asked a frail voice from upstairs. Accompanying the elderly voice was the sound of tapping on the floor.
“Coming, Mother,” said Mr. MacMiche.
The teachers gingerly followed Mr. MacMiche and his daughter up the stairs, Fido jumping up behind them.
When they got into the bedroom and saw a man wearing a Georgian mob-cap and the general garb of an elderly woman from the late eighteenth century. He was banging the floor a walking stick.
“Who has come to our house?” he / she said again in that elderly female voice that he seemed to enjoy so well.
“It’s two of Kelly’s teachers, Mother,” explained Mr. MacMiche. “But it doesn’t matter: they’re just going.”
Fido jumped on “Mother”’s bed and started licking his / her face.
The two teachers turned and ran down the stairs, the sounds of “No, Fido – down! Bad dog! Bad dog!” ringing in their ears. It was a day that would haunt them for a long time.
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Kelly stared at the exam board. She had passed all her “A” Levels. She had two As and a B (one of the As being, of course, History). Her response was to tut and roll her eyes Heavenwards. There were three reasons for that: one was that she was annoyed that that B hadn’t been an A; one was that all the decent colleges she’d applied to had failed her on interview despite the good grades she had been predicted so this wouldn’t save her from going to that crappy little island college anyway; and thirdly she tutted and rolled her eyes like that because she was Kelly MacMiche.
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Kelly hated being stuck on an island. But then again she would probably have hated wherever she had been.
She thought about that stupid letter that her father had forwarded her from home – the local social services were retrospectively looking into her home environment during her childhood years pending this, that and the other and had he been a fit father and blah blah blah following a complaint by those two stupid teachers. She had written back, of course, to the social service people to say to mind their own fucking business and that yeah it had been great, thank them so much for interfering with her life.
She sort of wished, just for half a second, that there was someone on Sharp Holme that she could talk to. But she dismissed that idea quickly. No-one here would understand her or her family and besides friends were for losers. They wasted precious time when you could be studying or getting high.
There was a boy she sort of liked. She wanted to pull his pants and trousers down, laugh at how small his willy was (whether it was or not), put him over her knees and spank his bare bottom. He was called Charles and she had tried speaking to him but he had simply avoided her. Peasant.
Now another boy had come along who was really sexy. She really, really wanted to spank him so hard that she badly hurt him. She wanted to see that handsome face contorted with pain as the tears flowed down his cheeks and he begged her for mercy. Mercy which she would not show him. He was handsome enough that he deserved no mercy. And when he tried to get himself off her lap she would push him back over it again. She was sure she had the strength.
She was pleased when he came back to her after she had snapped at him at dinner time.
“Excuse me,” he said politely. “Is this where the puddings are?”
"What kind of moron are you? Of course this is where the puddings are. Didn't they teach you the difference between puddings and main courses at Eton?"
"I - I didn't actually go to Eton."
"Well, you obviously went to some stupid boys' posh school. Which one was it?"
"Oh, Hawkhouse Boarding," she said imitating his upper-crust accent. "How spiffing. Excuse me, old chap, I shall just help myself to a spot of pudding, what?"
He was moderately intelligent, which was nice. He let her come to his room along with the two fat bastards from her History course.
She asked him to come to the boys’ changing room in the local swimming pool for a teaching-and-spanking session. HE ACTUALLY SAID YES!!
Kelly was so excited. She bought three whole bottles of wine for him and her to share. She remembered the magic of telling him to “Bend over!” as she had so often said to hot boys… AND HIM ACTUALLY OBEYING!
She tried to make it look completely normal. She didn’t want to admit she’d never had a boyfriend before and he was the first. That wouldn’t look cool at all. She couldn’t believe the wonderful feeling that filled her entire being as the most gorgeous boy in the world bent over, putting his lovely bottom out. The look of his bottom, tight through his black trousers, was amazing. And she could just hit and hit and hit! She’d never had that before. Normally she’d hit a boy once and he’d swear and go off. But not this guy. He could really take it. He’d bend over as long as she demanded. He was shaking slightly: obviously frightened; obviously in pain from the “Ow” noises he started to make, particularly when she made him drop his trousers and finally his swimming trunks, get over her knees and take a spanking from her strict hand. That bare bottom was better than she had believed possible. She mustn’t tell him that was her first sight – or feel - of a boy’s bare bottom. It was looking red – she was clearly really hurting him. Good. Very good. She felt his willy stiffen at one point and sensed he was trying to keep it under control. She also saw his naked buttocks clenching and unclenching. That nearly made her faint with delight. He deserved all that free wine she’d bought him. He must love her as much as she loved him, she thought.
Kelly then did something she never normally did: she smiled.